British Isles' Ghosts
by Sarastro the Queen o the Night
Summary: Ghost stories of the British Isles modified to fit these characters. Only a few pairings here and there-most, one sided. Rated for the stories.
1. Tom Fool

**A/N:** Hey? Um...I'm new here, don't kill me if you think it's stupid. I'm not sure how you guys will react to this, anyway.

Okay, so, I remember there was an episode in which Jester uses the word "Tomfoolery" which was not a word at the time. Tomfoolery came in the fifteenth century or around there. Because of a man called Tom Fool.

And for some reason, this clipped into being. It's the story of Tom Fool, only modified slightly. I'll tell the real story at the end.

Is this story short? Yes. Do I care? NO.

So, enjoy.

* * *

Jester may play the part of a foolish…well, fool, but he was vengeful and jealous. That's where his tricks were so important, pulled off as harmless tricks from a jester, but really his revenge against those who spited him.

When Jane continuously slipped out of the castle, not on any knightly duties, her father implored Jester to go see where she was off to. Jester complied, not expecting very much at all.

He found what was going on, though.

It seemed the village carpenter, Amneth, had caught Jane's heart, and she had been slipping off to see him. This would not be looked well upon for not only was she going to be a knight, she was high class, and he was an illiterate carpenter!

Of course, Jester grew angry, very angry, for he loved Jane, his jealous nature taking over. His mind began to hatch plans, and most were discarded, until the last one remained, the best option in his rage-blinded mind.

Returning, he merely reported to the Chamberlain that Jane had been taking walks, and continued to plan and plot.

* * *

Two weeks later, he invited Amneth to the castle, at night, when no one was awake. The two were in the kitchen, drinking juices and the like, and Jester slipped something into Amneth's drink.

Amneth died.

Of course, now he had to get rid of the body, so, Jester took Amneth's arms, and pulled him up the stairs, the late carpenter's boots making a thumping noise on each step. Once out of the kitchen, Amneth was dragged out, and hidden deep in the woods, buried carelessly.

* * *

Jane never ventured to ask what had become of him, knowing they would ask why she cared, Jester never spoke a word of his evil deed, not even in the mandatory confession, and everyone else was none the wiser.

But, for a long while, Pepper would speak of hearing rhythmic thumps coming from the stairs, as though someone in booted feet was being dragged up it.

* * *

**A/N:** boogie, boogie, boogie! It's a modified English ghost story! and Amneth comes from Shakespeare's son, the one that died. Um...right.

Wait, no-Amnet was Shakespeare's son, Amne_th_ is the again_ slightly_ modified name of the original name for the character Hamlet-Amleth. The name is derived from the _Saxo Grammaticus, _the _Chronicon Lethrense _and _Annales ludenses_. Those are three different accounts of Amleth. If you actually read that-I am so proud of you.

In the real story, Tom Fool is just sees them by chance, and tells his master. His master gets all angry and tells Tom to get rid of the carpenter. So, Tom kills him, and drags him up or down (can't remember which) some staircase. People hear the thumps today.

But this isn't as disturbing as the next one. That's right! I'm doing most every ghost story from there I can get my creepy little hands on. Yay.


	2. Lilias

**A/N:** I'm back! And now I'm feeling a bit safer in this section.

Now, about the last one, if you've seen Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, then take Billy as your reference point. If not, you've led a sorry existence. Now, when he's Billy, he's sweet and shy. But when he's Dr. Horrible, he's...well...horrible. That's my reasoning. And besides, it just made sense at the time.

Well, this is the modified story of Dame Lilias Drummond. Once again, modified to fit, but basically the same story.

Enjoy this tale of marriage and murder!

* * *

Magnus was married before Gunther's mother. He was married to a woman named Lilias Müller. She was very beautiful, which was why Magnus married her.

They were happy for some time, and by some time, I mean they were married for a good ten years. But alas, Lilias seemed unable to produce children, which meant that Magus was without the son he so desired.

But, they treated each other cordially, not really talking, but they were nice enough to each other.

One day though, Magnus met Christine, Lilias' cousin. She was young, beautiful, and very kind. Magnus began to favor her, and suddenly, Lilias fell ill.

No one questioned it, illness was common, the plague was all around, but to some, it seemed a bit too convenient. Lilias grew steadily sicker, and was soon confined to her bed. Their accounts from Magnus said that she was getting more and more weak, and that he feared she would die soon.

She did.

After a solemn burial, the headstone of an angel even, with her name, LILIASBREECH, inscribed underneath, Magnus waited six months before marrying Christine.

Six months instead of the usual year. This did not suit many people. Including Lilias.

* * *

On their wedding night, Magnus and Christine heard despaired wailings, like those of a heartbroken woman.

"Oooaaaooo! Oooaaaooo!"

Christine was very frightened of this, so Magnus went to the window, and opened it. There was nothing there, only the moon bathing the world in silver light, laughter drifting up from the pub, a light on in the castle.

He told his bride as much, and told her to go to sleep. He found no trouble in surrendering into darkness, while Christine could not, no matter how deep she buried herself under the sheets. She could not escape the moaning.

"Oooaaaooo! Oooaaaooo!"

Christine murmured her prayers, begging her Savior to send away the vile demon.

"Oooaaaooo! Oooaaaooo!"

* * *

In the morning light, Christine slipped out of the bed, and walked over to the window, to assure herself that everything was alright.

Opening the window, she looked around. The town was waking up, the town crier crying his cries, merchants selling their wares, and up at the castle, she could see knights patrolling the castle. Christine took a deep breath, bowing her head to give her thanks to her Savior for keeping her safe, but leapt back with a great shriek.

Magnus awoke, and upon asking her what was wrong, his bride only pointed wordlessly to the windowsill.

He looked at the stone, and his eyes grew wide. Tall letters carved from the outside, on the second story, spelled "DAMELILASMÜLLER", the name of his late wife. The newlyweds merely held each other, staring at the offending message, murmuring their prayers.

* * *

Sometimes, Gunther would see a beautiful woman walking into the room, but when he turned to ask her why she was there, the woman wouldn't be there anymore. He would murmur the Lord's Prayer, and return to whatever he had been doing, though seeing the woman in the green dress walk by him again.

* * *

**A/N:** Wee. this is probably going to be one of the most disturbing ones, but you may find the others worse.

So, if you're wondering why PARTSOFITWEREWRITTENLIKETHIS, that would be beacuse this is before the time of Al Cuin, who invented the lower case letter and spaces between words. So, let's all praise him.

I had something else...oh right! If you're wondering why they keep praying, these guys depended completely on the church. If they didn't have that, they had _nothing._ So, things go well, things go bad, they pray. They prayed all the time.

Alright, that's it. I hope you were as freaked out by this story as I was. If you go to Fyvie Castle in Scotland, if you go to the correct room, you can still see the carving of "D. Lilias Drummond" there. Creepy, huh?


	3. The Rhymer

**A/N:** Hello again all! I bring you the story of the Weeping Stones and Thomas the Rhymer-changed but the same!

This one is Fyvie Castle again, and this supposedly really happened. They actually have a stone that will start "weeping" in other words, if you put it in a bowl, the bowl will be filled with water, no matter how dry the conditions.

Well, next time, we'll be moving away from Fyvie, and Magnus will be killed! Yay!

Boogie boogie!

* * *

They said that he was a prophet, a seer. They said that he was a sorcerer. They said that if you insulted him, he would curse you and your family-generations to come.

His name was Durward. Durward traveled around the land, forecasting the future as he saw it, which was often very gloomy.

"Durward told me my crops would fail, bloody coot," they would mutter, first hearing. Their mates would buy them another drink, but…the crops would fail.

It was because of this, that whenever anyone caught wind of Durward coming, they would make sure that they could afford to host him, just in case.

And when word came that Durward wanted to stay at Kippernia Castle, there was a bit of a panic.

"What if we anger him by chance?" asked the Queen worriedly.

"I'm more worried on how long he plans to stay. You know he spent six years somewhere," said the King.

Their two sons though, were nice and oblivious, playing in the gardens and such, sparring with the squires, nicking food from the kitchens, that sort of thing.

Eventually, they left the door and drawbridge open for Durward, when he arrived.

"I do hope he won't stay long," the Queen had said as the door was opened. She didn't like Durward at all. Especially his claim of spending time under a hollow hill with the Fae Queen. That was not a proper Christian man.

* * *

The seer was taking his time, stopping in places for varying amounts of time. Sometimes he spent a night, sometimes he spent a year. Such was the way of Durward. No one dared kick him out, for fear of receiving a curse, and so, Durward only left when he felt like it.

It took him seven years and a day to reach the castle of his destination.

"Thank the Lord he is gone," muttered Ena, a villager. "He was here for ages."

"Yes, but remember, do not let him hear you say that," said her husband, Forbes.

"He's on the road to Kippernia Castle, he cannot hear me." Forbes nodded, and the two continued on with life.

During these seven years and a day, the drawbridge was down, and the door was open. Any day he could appear after all. And the very day that Durward showed up, just as he walked up to the door, it slammed shut in his face due to the freak storm that blew up.

Of course, taking this as a personal insult, Durward grew angry and screeched over the newly howling wind, holding up his arms to summon magic, "Kippernia, Kippernia! Thou shalt never thrive as long as there's in thee stones three! There's one in the oldest tower! There's one in the lady's bower! There's one in the water's gate! And these three stones you'll never get!" throwing down his arms in anger, he strode off, no matter that the knights had opened the door and called their apologies over the storm.

* * *

"He's cursed us!" moaned the Queen. "Oh, he's cursed us!"

"Now, now, my sweet, it cannot be that bad," said the King, trying to calm her. But his wife was inconsolable, wailing and bemoaning the fate of her family.

* * *

Caradoc died, unable to take the throne, instead, it passed to his brother, who changed his name to Caradoc in honor of his brother.

During the reign of Caradoc II, they found a mysterious stone, that even kept in a dry space, would sometimes begin to weep, water coming from the dark rock, filling any bowl it was put in.

When Caradoc's son, Cuthbert was grown to the age of thirteen, he died. It was then determined, at the very solemn funeral, that the first born son of that line would never be able to take the throne, either by death or perhaps they would go mad. Either way, Kippernia was cursed because of an ill tempered seer.

* * *

Occasionally, Jane would take the heavy rock in her hands, and would look at it. When she did, sometime she would see it begin to weep into her hands. And afterwards, she would always injure herself in some small way or another. Once she fell off a horse, once she twisted her ankle, once she broke her wrist.

She didn't like to go near the Weeping Stone anymore.

* * *

**A/N:** Oo! I was writing this today in study hall, so it's short, since I only had a half hour.

I actually believe that Cuthbert will grow to be a very responisble king. He's what, eight? I was not a very responisble child at eight. But, for the purposes of this, I had to get rid of him...

Well, I get to murder Magnus in the single worse way of his time in the next one! Isn't that great?

I bid you luck in your dabblings with the supernatural...and Jane and the Dragon.


	4. The Visitor

**A/N:** Hello again! Well, um...this has been recieved better than I thought. Well...yay!

This one is the scariest in my opinion, but maybe because I got to church regularly and stuff.

So, this is the story of a strange visitor the castle of Glamis received- and if you're the Shakespeare geek I am, you know, this is mentioned in Macbeth. It's also where some of my ancestors, Duncan and Malcom lived. That makes me sixteenth cousins seventeen times removed to the Queen of England. That's cool in my opinion.

Moving away from that. I asked who I should kill off, and I decided on Ivon. I don't actually think that this would happen to _him,_ but probably to Magnus. Just my thought.

Without further ado-The Visitor!

* * *

Magnus had a bit of a gambling problem. Just a small one.

It was so tiny that he didn't even think it would be a problem to gamble with Sir Ivon into the Sabbath. So tiny that neither of them cared how serious that sin was.

Well, maybe they did, but they were usually drunk at that point. Neither could care.

Gunther did not like it when his father gambled like he did, especially late on Saturday. The Devil could come and steal him away, and then where would that leave him?

On one such Saturday, Magnus and Ivon were gambling, and of course, getting drunk. Gunther was very worried, because it was only an hour until midnight, and who knew what could happen?

So, he ventured to the room where the two men were partaking in the dangerous sport, and said, very quietly,

"It's an hour until the Sabbath, please, stop. It's a sin to gamble on the Lord's Day."

"Leave us be, boy!" roared Magnus, drunk. "Can you not see we're in the middle of a game?!" Gunther flinched, but let them be. Angering a drunk man was a very bad idea, after all.

* * *

_11:01_

_11:02_

_11:03_

_11:04_

_11:05…

* * *

_

The two men joked and continued to gamble, money passing back and forth. They were getting steadily more and more intoxicated, occasionally engaging in drunken arguments.

"You cheater!" said Ivon.

"If I'm cheating, then you're cheating more!" said Magnus. They were too drunk to really realize how stupid they sounded.

* * *

_11:50_

_11:51_

_11:52_

_11:53_

_11:54_

_11:55…

* * *

_

Gunther came into the room again, and begged them to stop.

"It is five minutes until the Sabbath!" he said. "I beg you, stop!"

Ivon, red faced, roared at the boy, "We will play until _Doomsday _if it so pleases us!" the fire jumped spectacularly. "Now be gone!" Realizing it was a lost cause, Gunther left, to go pray for their souls. As he did, a tall man appeared before him.

* * *

_12:00_

* * *

Gunther looked up at him, a bit shocked; he hadn't seen him coming in, after all. The man was tall, with a dark beard and hair. He looked like a younger and handsomer version of his father.

"Is Magnus Breech in that room?" he asked. Gunther nodded. "My thanks, boy."

Gunther watched as the man entered, and shook his head. Something didn't feel quite right about that man. Nothing at all fell right about him. Nothing.

Gunther crossed himself and murmured a few Hail Mary's, going up to his room to pray for his father's soul.

* * *

Ivon and Magnus looked up as the man walked in, still rip roaring drunk. The man swept to the other chair, and nodded.

"I understand you are willing to gamble," he said. "I place a bet." Sitting down, the fire cracked, shooting upwards. He took a velvet pouch and poured out sparkling blood red rubies.

As each ruby clinked onto the wood, the fire popped. The man smiled, and leaned back in his chair.

The three men gambled, and around two in the morning, the knight and the merchant engaged in a heated argument. The stranger just watched quietly. He was smiling slightly, the fire roaring high and hard, cracking and popping.

* * *

Gunther heard the shouts, and smelled smoke, so he ran downstairs. Odd, there was no heat. He wandered around, wondering where the smell of smoke was coming from.

He eventually went to the room where the three men were gambling, and opened the door. Gunther shielded his eyes, looking in with horror. There was his father and his mentor, arguing, but the dark stranger was nowhere to be seen, and the entire room was engulfed in eerie flames, licking and yet not burning. As he looked in with his undisguised fear, he heard the sick laughter of an unseen being.

The flames leapt at him, but he slammed the door close, praying as hard as he could, crossing himself over and over.

His home had played host to the Prince of Darkness. His father had been taken by the Devil.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, that's why it scares me. I'm never going to gamble on Sunday-EVER. I'm too scared by this story. *shudders*

So, don't gamble on Sunday is the moral of this creepy story. Heh...


	5. Druids and Ropes

**A/N:** hello again, boils and ghouls! Alright, you're probably saying, "Why is this one so short?" I can hear you through the internet with magical authoress powers. Now, you are also saying, "Where have you been?" and that dear friends, is answered simply. Not here. I have been working on some of my other stories, all of which I am having some cases of writers block. Chapter nine for one of my stories is only plugging along very tiredly. It's not flowing out of my fingers, so I've been working on my writing exercises (fanfiction I don't ever post because it's stupid).

And on the length. I had two very interesting, and yet very short stories, and so I piled them together and expanded until I couldn't expand anymore. This is the longest you can get out of this one. I went as long I could, I really did.

I don't own painters, Druids, the two castles of Ireland-we've moved away from Scotland for now!-or Jane and the Dragon. Gotta keep that in mind.

* * *

Cuthbert, as it seemed was blessed and cursed. He could see others couldn't. Not observantly, but in another sense.

Often, when he and his family went for picnics, he would see a line of men all in white robes walking solemnly by, but when he looked again, they were gone. He told his parents this, and they said that he was imagining things. How, he didn't know. You couldn't make that up.

As he grew, his sightings became few and in between, but when he was seventeen…

* * *

The young man was lying in the library, asleep. He now understood why Gunther had took so many naps, as a squire-near knight- you had to work hard.

"Just a few moments…" he told himself, resting against the wall.

He obviously fell fast asleep, spiraling into dreams.

* * *

When he awoke, he felt the floor was spinning uncontrollably underneath him. Cuthbert had no idea how long he was asleep. Only that he was getting unbearably dizzy and felt he would retch.

Two faces were looming over him now. Both were bearded, he noted. Both had shoulders, covered in white cloth, much like the figures he had seen as a young boy.

"What…?" he murmured, as he felt himself rise from the ground.

Frozen in fear, he allowed himself to rise. Eventually, he moved, and landed painfully on the library floor. The faces disappeared.

Cuthbert rose, and hurried out, running into the Chamberlain on the way.

"Your highness! You look as though you have seen the Devil himself!" said the red headed man.

"No, but close," said the prince.

"Would you mind clarifying, your highness?"

* * *

And so, the prince told the man all about his vision-from the men in white he had seen as a young boy, all the way to his painful meeting with the stone.

Milton listened to his future king, and nodded as details were explained. Imagination, tricks of the light-hang on, what?

"And I was raised off the ground. I was just floating midair!" the prince went on. "Everything was still spinning though, but when I moved, I fell onto the ground, and everything stopped."

The Chamberlain nodded. He had an idea of what happened. "Your highness, it's only a silly superstition-but do you believe that maybe-just maybe, you saw ghosts?"

"What of though?"

"A long time ago, there were savages living here. Much before Christ. They said they could communicate directly with the gods, and could create mist and fire at will, among other things. They would sacrifice people to their gods. Perhaps, you saw their ghosts, come to choose a new sacrifice."

Cuthbert stared at him in horror. Could he really have been almost sacrificed to ancient savage gods?

As Cuthbert tried to understand all this, the two heard a loud crash coming from a stairway. The Prince and the Chamberlain hurried to said stairway to see Sir Gunther there, staring in horror towards the ceiling. He was trembling slightly.

"Are you alright?" asked Milton, hurrying over.

"There was a rope there…a frayed rope hanging from nothing," said the knight. The other two looked up.

"There's nothing there," said Cuthbert.

"I swear on the cross-there was a rope there!" said Gunther.

They spent a fair amount of time calming down the horrified knight, taking him to the kitchen for a hot drink. But, when they left, in the stairway, hanging from nothing was a gently swaying frayed rope.

* * *

**A/N: **I think it was pretty cool that the only ghost was the rope, anyway...

So, those are my two very short ones. I wanted to put them in somehow, regardless of the size...

I learned recently that one of my readers is related to John Hancock (I don't think that's correct, but at the moment I don't care), and I find that way cooler than my connection to the Queen of England or Charlemagne or a character in a Victor Hugo novel or that early American settler, she's related to someone who gave my country freedom! That's way cooler in my book than anything else! why I put that in there, I have no idea...


	6. Monotua or Face Scratchers

**A/N:** Hey there boils and ghouls(I'm getting this from Creature Feature, which I am listening to right now)!

Okay, this one is a severe break from the others, and it will be the only one, I promise. This is an event that happened in the summer of 2002, in the Indian village of Kamasi. It's basically been verified as a bug called the Dune Beetle. It's a huge beetle with sharp feet, but the other bit is probably a toy helicopter or something. I just thought that the concept of it would make a good story.

I just felt REALLY descriptive and dramatic when I wrote this, okay?

I don't own it either.

* * *

Blood spilled across the land, painting the trees scarlet as the sky glowed with the same hue. Flame danced along the horizon, smoky purple colors twirling with deep blue above the orange flame that hovered above the blood.

The sun was setting over the sea that was all. Very few people appreciated the beauty over the dancing waters though, as it had been very dry lately, and _very_ hot at this point.

Not even Jester had the energy to dance. The Royal Family sat in the shade and fanned themselves, even the knights no better. Jane and Gunther though, were always at each other's throats, to one up each other, and performed tasks given to them by the court that couldn't stand the heat.

They fetched water, they opened windows, they brought food, all of their tasks were those of servants, but they _would_ beat the other.

The days passed in this fashion, and eventually, the evening of our sunset occurred. By this time, most of the capital was sleeping outside their homes, there were a few who didn't (like Magnus) but the rest had dragged their beds outside, and everyone helped everyone with cranking the ropes tight*. The priest said that living like this, they were really baring themselves to the Lord and Savior. No, no one understood how, they just nodded and accepted it.

Even up at the castle, it was too hot in the drafty building to sleep inside, and by the end of the day, Gunther had no energy to go back to the village only to sleep inside, so he, as well as Jane, and the two knights slept in the training yard. Jane was only sleeping there instead of the gardens like anyone else because she was getting close to being knighted, and didn't want to abandon her duties at night, and no one had energy to argue.

When Dragon flew overhead at night, he often had to land to laugh, seeing the King and his family sleeping by the fountain and the rest of the court next to the flowerbeds. It was apparently very, very funny.

_

* * *

Bzzzz…...Bzzzz……_

"Hmm?" muttered Jane, waking slightly. She looked up at the sky, seeing the carelessly spilled diamonds on black velvet, and figured nothing was wrong. "What did I wake up for?"

"What did you wake _me_ up for?" muttered Gunther.

"I did not wake you up."

"Well, name me the other person awake around here. Then I will accuse them of making that buzzing noise."

_Bzzzz……Bzzzz……_

"Alright Gunther, stop that."

"I am _not_ making that noise, Jane." They were silent for a very long time, waiting for the noise to come again, but it didn't. "See? I was not making that noise. Probably just some type of bug."

"Sure. Good night."

"Good night." The two squires fell back asleep, diving back into the _deliciously _cool waters of their dreams.

_

* * *

Bzzzz……Bzzzz……_

_Bzzzz…Bzzzz…Bzzzz…Bzzzz…_

_BZZZZ…BZZZZ…Bzzzz…bzzzz…_

_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!_

Jane woke again, ready to yell at Gunther, and felt a sharp burning feeling along her arm. She leapt up, screaming, and saw a square blue light flying away from her and over towards Gunther. She didn't wake him up before it winked out. Gunther leapt to his feet, swiping at his face as she had with her arm.

"What did you do?!" he demanded.

"Nothing!" said Jane, defending herself, throwing up her arms even. The two heard the knights get up.

"Both of you, go back to bed. It will be just as hot tomorrow, and we all know that heat saps away our strength," said Sir Theodore's voice.

"But Sir Theodore—" started Jane.

"There was this—" started Gunther at the same time.

"Back to sleep," ordered Sir Ivon.

"I still blame you," hissed Gunther as the two lay back down.

"I did nothing!" hissed Jane.

Though during the night, Jane felt a few more of the sensations along her arms, and heard Gunther batting at something, grunting in pain.

* * *

Melted gold poured across the turquoise, the opal tinted in the same way. The heat from this began to slowly creep over the land, giving them no end of trouble. In other words, the sun was rising, and the day was already began to heat up.

Those in their beds or in the gardens and training yard were slowly getting up, already retreating to the shade or going to change into the lightest clothing they owned. When Jane woke though, she looked down at her arms and saw burned scars along them. That is, a mix of a scar and a burn. She pulled her sleeves down, and then you couldn't see them anymore. But there was the same feeling under her right eye. She stood, and hurried to her room. If she was going to ask her mother what was wrong with her face, she was not going to be wearing the clothes she had been wearing to sleep last night. Then her mother would have something else to fuss over.

She hurried out, and passing the training yard, caught sight of Gunther touching his face. She stopped, and called to him,

"What is wrong with your face?" he looked up at her without amusement, and she leapt back with a gasp. His face had multitudes of the same type of burning scratches, along his forehead, jaw and cheeks.

"Felt like burns. You have the same," said Gunther.

"All over my face?"

"Yes."

"But I can only feel one…"

"Well then you must have gotten the others when you were asleep."

The two went on with their day, and reaching the garden, there were gasps, lots of them.

"Jane! What did you do?!" cried said girl's mother, rushing to her.

"Exactly what I asked," muttered Gunther, folding his arms.

"Well, last night, there were these odd lights. They were small, and they were only lit when they were flying. They attacked both Gunther and I, and they gave us these," explained Jane.

"Face Scratchers," said Jester. When they looked at him curiously he said, "We need something to call them, and Face Scratchers is as appropriate as anything."

* * *

Over the course of the next month, most of the castle and nearly all of the capital had the burned scratches all over them. The Face Scratchers, they were told by the priests, were demons sent by Satan, wishing them to retreat to how they had been, and to no longer show themselves to God as they had, and they should remain strong against them, as the King was. He had been one of the first attacked but his lack of fear against them prevented him from being attacked again (no one commented on how none of them had ever been attacked a second time).

The months passed by, hot and dry and burning and scratching, until they _were_ being attacked again, and yet it was too hot for the safety of their homes, even _Magnus_ was sleeping outside. During the third month of the nocturnal attacks, it became sticky and muggy heat, and slowly began to grow cooler, following the first frost. After the first frost, the attacks stopped, and they were sleeping inside again, as it was cool enough. They were covered in the burns and scratches yes, but they weren't attacked anymore.

Oddly, the Face Scratchers never returned, but neither did such harsh heat, both of which they were eternally grateful for.

* * *

**A/N:** Well. I used only one historical reference to something in this. Yay!

* the cranking of the ropes was very important. Your mattress was held up with ropes, like ours are with planks of wood or bars of metal, sometimes both. The tighter you cranked the ropes, the more comfortable you were at night. that's where we get "Sleep Tight." the part of "Don't let the Bedbugs bite" is obviously of the flat insects that live in old matresses and suck your blood during the night.

Well, there's actually some other name for the Face Scratchers, something like Monotua, I don't know how it's spelled but it's pronounced "Mo-no-too-ah" so I did my best.

Until next time.


	7. Sarah

**A/N: **Hello Boils and Ghouls (I'm just getting a kick out of writing that)! Sorry it took so long. I was REALLY going to bear down on this yesterday, but then my mom got the movie "Julie & Julia" so we had to watch it then dance around the kitchen to Talking Head's "And She Was" while eating creme bruliee (is that how you spell it?) with whipped cream and raspberries. Oh my life is so hard! Note the sarcasm.

So, this story is written as a great tragedy, which to the real family of Sarah, it is. Oo, I gave it away. This is a really obscure ghost story anyway, so I'll give you another hint. Her old home is now a bed and breakfast. There. that's all you get until the end.

I don't own this genius, thank you very much.

* * *

Dragon was sneezing again. This time, there was nothing plotting against him, he was just sneezing. It seemed it was a different type of illness. Not quite the sniffles, and not quite curly-tail. As far as anyone could tell, it wasn't dangerous, it just blackened a lot of greenery.

Jane looked for every cure she could find, and eventually resigned herself to the fact that they would have to wait out the sneezing. They had admired her efforts though, but were glad she had stopped searching. It had been a little annoying.

"Dragon, do you feel any better?" asked Jane.

"A little," replied the reptile. He promptly lifted his head and sneezed into the sky, the flames harmless. "Alright, not really."

"Well, get better soon, patrol is boring when you just have a horse," laughed Jane.

"I'll try," grumbled the great beast.

"Champion." With a bright smile, Jane hurried off to practice archery, leaving Dragon miserable and sneezing.

It happened like that every day. It was a routine soon. Jane would ask if he felt any better. Dragon would affirm he did and then admit he didn't. Jane would tell him to get well soon, and Dragon would promise to try. This routine lasted for a long while, until eventually, Dragon was nearly over it, enough that he posed no threat to any passing birds (aside from an occasional sneeze). And yet, he didn't have the energy to fly or walk back up to his caves.

And as such, they allowed him to remain in the castle overnight some nights. And it is on one of those nights that our story truly begins.

* * *

Dragon lay there, asleep, and dreaming of cows, just outside the tower in which Jane slept. Jester had fallen asleep in the dining hall, because it was chilly, and there was no place for a fire in his room. It was warmer in the dining hall…

A tingle. A tiny tingle.

Jane slept peacefully, dreaming abstract dreams of knights and dragons and birds for some reason and jesters and lutes. The dragon was playing the lute while the jester flew with the birds, the knight sitting and commenting on it.

A tickle. A flaring of nostrils.

Lavinia was tucked deep under the sheets, wishing her fire was larger, it was kind of cold in there. Oh well, playing with Jane tomorrow would warm her up nice and quick.

Breath. Breath. Breath…SNEEZE!

Dragon woke, and just in time to see the tower start to go up in flames. He started screaming, and the rest of the castle woke, and began to form a bucket brigade to put out the fire while Dragon went to Jane out.

It was getting very warm in Jane's dream. The lute had caught on fire the Dragon was playing it so hard. An ember had dropped on her, but she brushed it off. Nothing could hurt her in a dream, could it?

* * *

The fire was out, and Dragon held a charred and dead body. Jane had burnt to death. Jester had only survived because there was nowhere for him to light a fire so he had gone to sleep somewhere else.

Dragon was inconsolable, especially at the funeral. Sadly, he hadn't sneezed after that last one, and instead cried as they spoke the Lord's Prayer and lowered her body into the ground. The Princess hugged Dragon's snout, tears also rippling down her cheeks.

All the rest were heartbroken too, and gave their own. Jester wore black, and even didn't wear the festive cap, letting his blond hair be shown to all, Rake had made a bouquet of Jane's favorite flowers which he tossed into the grave after her. Gunther had put her practice sword beside her in the coffin, Pepper had prepared Jane's favorite foods and those alone. Jane's mother, unable to watch, had to be held back from leaping into the grave after her precious daughter, her father merely stared at the deep hole, sobbing quietly.

Even _Magnus_ showed some compassion. He hadn't even _thought_ of trying to collect dragon's tears, which were legendary, very, very legendary. Supposedly had healing properties and could keep you young forever. Very expensive. And yet…not today. Not here.

The dirt started to be poured over Jane's grave, and the tears flowed from everyone. Nearly everyone, Magnus wasn't crying, but the rest of them were. The children went to Dragon and they cried together.

* * *

Days trudged past into weeks, which dragged to months, which somehow built themselves into a year. On the anniversary of the fire, odd things began happening. Lavinia had this dream where Jane had come asking her if "her little highness wished to play."

Lavinia had been so heartbroken over her loss, they called it just memories.

But then, Lavinia was having a tea party and turned away just a moment. When she turned back, the cups and saucers were stacked one on top of the other. Lavinia had been puzzled, and then she smelled the faint scent of smoke.

The princess smiled. Jane _hadn't_ left for good like they said she had.

* * *

The candles guttered out. A window had opened obviously. The fire went out. Not enough fuel, surely! The smith's fire went out. He wasn't attentive enough. There was the smell of smoke though there was no fire. Well…perhaps Dragon burped or something…

Lavinia laughed to herself about those theories. It was Jane! Adults didn't know anything.

"You think it is Jane doing all this?" asked Pepper one day as the princess sat in the kitchen, having told Pepper her secret. "But princess, Jane is…"

"I know. It is her ghost, silly!" laughed the girl. Pepper nodded and agreed as she was supposed to, missing her friend.

Over the weeks, Lavinia would smile as tricks were played. Sheets were pulled off of people, pillows were yanked from underneath their heads, and every night, there was the smell of smoke, and Lavinia would whisper ideas for pranks to Jane. She grinned broadly as leaks appeared over her brother's head at meals, disappearing when he looked up, and tried not to laugh when Jester would find his beloved hat lying on the other side of the castle, or innocently by the door to Jane's ruined bedroom.

But once, Theodore had come to the meal eyes wide and almost terrified. When asked he had said, "I saw Jane. I was coming here, and there she was, sitting on the stairs and watching me. Then she vanished and all I could smell was smoke." As that left his lips, the room suddenly smelled of smoke, and a ghostly figure of a twelve year old girl in leggings raced through the room, laughing. The candles and fire guttered out.

* * *

Over the years, Jane was sometimes seen, or smelt. Gunther saw her most often, in the training yard: lying on her back staring to the sky, or possibly holding the practice sword he had put next to her body almost waiting for him to come spar.

Many people smelled her, and then were victim to a prank imagined by Lavinia and carried out by Jane.

"Maybe you could do that thing with the pillow, and then leap up and scare them!" whispered the little girl as the smell of smoke invaded the room.

The smoke smell receded, and Lavinia could hear her brother scream. The smoke smell was back and Lavinia was laughing, almost able to hear Jane laughing with her.

* * *

For years and years and years, they left Jane's room untouched, but eventually, they knew that they needed to rebuild it, for something else, they needed that room. The made it into a bedroom for squires, in honor of Jane.

Those squires never slept well in that room, for there was never a flame. Candles couldn't be lit, a fire in the fireplace was unthinkable. Jane was their protector, and even when the country entered battle, there was a very strong smell of smoke.

* * *

When Gunther was knighted, he said he had smelt smoke the night before at his vigil in the chapel. When Lavinia married, Jane's scent of smoke permeated the room. When Caradoc died, smoke smell drifted about the funeral. When Cuthbert was crowned, the crown's cloth smelled of smoke. When Cuthbert took a queen, her nostrils were invaded with the strong smell of smoke.

"What is that?" she asked. Cuthbert took a deep breath, and only smiled. Queen Lavinia (obviously of another land) clarified by saying,

"That's just Jane. She won't harm you." And that was what they said to everyone, until it became,

"What is that smell?"

"Jane is here."

And soon, no one remembered _Jane_ they only remembered that the smell of smoke and the twelve year old girl's ghost often played pranks but wouldn't harm you.

Smoke…Jane's here.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I just killed off Jane. I thought I wouldn't have to. Huh. Well, Sarah and Jane were the same age.

As such, I shall now tell you the real story. Sarah (I can't remember her last name) lived with her parents in...Virginia I think it was. She was twelve years old and loved to play pranks. She and her parents were absolutely happy. Then, one night, Sarah was asleep in her attic bedroom, when a fire started. She was asleep and trapped, so she died. Parents being devestated, they moved away. the community left the shell of the house untouched, until the 80's. They built a bed and breakfast, every Victorian detail restored. Sarah's room is a place you can stay. But they say she plays pranks on you.

She did pull pillows, she did stack teacups, and everyone can tell if Sarah is there because of the smell of smoke. She was/is 12 years old and haunts the guests.

But I hope you enjoyed it!


	8. Mercy and Vampires

**A/N:** I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this up! Sorry, sorry, sorry! This was actually really, really difficult to write for some reason, but I got it now.

This takes place when Lavinia is twelve years old, mind you, she's not six or anything. It all makes sense. Sorry if it sounds horribly choppy and bleh (yes, bleh is an adjective), I just could not do this as easily as the other ones.

I don't own this.

* * *

A horrible illness was inching its way along. This disease killed slowly, and had no known cure, except the touch of the king. It turned people pale and made them cough up blood. Many believed it was the work of vampires, the followers of Satan who couldn't die. So, after medicine failed them (but is that really a surprise? The letting of blood couldn't help in the slightest), they turned to superstition. Garlic wreaths were put up on doors, pine wreaths on the windows so the witches couldn't get in-just in case.

By the time that the illness reached the capital, the houses and the castle were draped with the herbs and plants. Given, it made everyone sneeze, but it was for their own protection. It seemed that Cuthbert was actually allergic to garlic, but only that he would sneeze like mad every time he came to close to a clove. So he stayed away from it.

That was his first mistake.

The prince caught the illness, and though his father rubbed his hands and touched his brow, it didn't seem to be working. Then Lavinia caught it. Cuthbert actually got a little better, so he was removed from close proximity from Lavinia.

Over time, while Cuthbert improved marginally, Lavinia got steadily sicker. Eventually, the girl slipped from the world.

Out of sight, never out of mind.

* * *

They mourned the girl for six months. The castle just wasn't the same, and it never would be. Jester just couldn't come up with jokes, both the squires didn't have much heart for training, and the queen had nearly fallen to the clutches of insanity such was her grief.

"My sweet girl!" she would moan. "My dear Lavinia!" And that was two months after Lavinia had died. At the funeral, the Scandinavian woman had clung to her husband, who had to occasionally hold her back from snatching away the body from the tomb

After the bloody sunset one night, when the earth was bathed in silver gleaming light, the skies laughing in twinkling stars, Queen Gwendolyn awoke. It had been misty all that evening, so she wasn't surprised that it entered her room. She was going to go back to sleep, but then she saw the door opening. She watched in horror as a figure, a girl, walked towards her. It looked like Lavinia, but a haze fell over her, and the Queen fell back to sleep's welcoming black embrace.

Indeed, events like this happened a long while, Gwendolyn would awake, see the mist and the figure, and fall back to sleep.

She fell victim to the wasting disease. Some called it consumption and recommended bleeding, others called it the White Plague and suggested fervent prayer accompanied by bleeding. Everyone said bleeding was the answer. Letting blood would help. So, bowl after bowl of royal (for some reason not blue) blood was carried out of the room in which the queen lay sick, her husband sitting loyally by her side when not going to see Cuthbert.

It was a clear night, without any mist that Gwendolyn climbed the Ladder of Jacob, catching rung after rung, climbing slowly, steadily, moving upwards.

* * *

The second funeral in a year. And no less, the second _royal_ funeral in a year. This was just wrong. They shouldn't have died. Had King Caradoc not touched their hands and foreheads and whatnot? How could their queen and princess be dead?

Cuthbert did weep to see the tomb, the effigy of his mother lying so peacefully, a smile on her face and her hands folded on her stomach. The prince wept more at his mother's funeral than at his sister's, though tears did flow heavily from his eyes then, too.

It took another six months, making it a little more than a year since the princess died, well actually it was a month two days and eight hours, but who's counting?

Caradoc and Cuthbert were the only ones still alive, but the Prince was still sick, yet he was improving, nearly healthy they said.

But in the capital itself…they were suffering from the disease, and some began to blame either the late queen or princess.

So, to pacify his subjects, they all gathered at the chapel, and they lifted the cover of the queen's tomb. There was a long dead corpse, the horrid stench permeating the chapel, yet they did not flinch. Covering her again and murmuring their prayers, they moved to Lavinia's tomb.

No one _really_ thought it could be Lavinia, she had been only twelve, of course she hadn't done it…maybe she did. For when they opened her tomb, the girl was untouched, looking like she had the day of her death, her eyes closed, a serious look on her face.

This time, the prayers were more fervent, people falling to their knees and begging the Lord to save them, to vanquish this horrible creature-oh Lord, please!

And to make matters worse, Cuthbert had taken a turn for the worse, getting sicker and sicker. So, consulting the religious leaders and the wizard, they had come to the conclusion that the only way to save them all (the castle, the village, and Cuthbert) was to cut out Lavinia's heart, burn it, and make a mixture for Cuthbert to drink. That would heal him, and subsequently kill the Vampire.

And so, King Caradoc II cut out the heart of his sweet, sweet daughter, weeping all the while, and tossed it into the fire. A stench reached their noses, much to their distaste, though not unexpected (the heart _did_ come from a Vampire after all). When the heart was ashes, they removed them, and poured them in a cup of holy water, which was stirred thoroughly. With a wrinkled nose, the boy drank the healing mixture, ridding the world of one less agent of the devil.

"It tastes awful!" he complained, and they chuckled, he seemed in good spirits.

* * *

The boy slowly recovered, and was in good health (thank the drink for that!), but the oddest thing was, as soon as Lavinia was put to rest for the second time, the disease no longer killed. Perhaps she really had been a vampire…

* * *

**A/N: **On a lighter note, Happy Easter! I say that because I'm Christian so I'm celebrating it, and I'll be busy all day with services at Central Presbyterian Church and the Easter Egg hunt I need to help with and my celebrations with my grandparents and my sister and my parents and it will be impossible for me to update during that mess.

But back to the story. I am really unhappy with how it turned out, but it's been so long that I'll give it to you. I'm still very, very sorry, but please let me know what you thought.

Actual story is that in New England in the 1800's, Consumption was all over the place. People were dying left and right and lots of people were saying "it's Vampires I tell you!" so people hung up garlic (the pine, there's a superstition that if you hang a pine wreath on your door or window, the witches have to count every single needle before they can come in. It's like the idea that Vampires have to stop and count every grain of wheat if you throw some at them, and only then can they attack you) on their doors so that they would be safe. Meanwhile, in Rhode Island, Mr. John Brown's wife Mary was sick with Consumption (or White Plague as they called it). She died, and he was in despair. Then his daughters Olive and Mercy got ill too. Olive dreamed of a shadowy figure draining away her life force each night, as did Mercy before they both died. Now Mr. Brown only had his son Edmond, who was also ill. Eventually, the town decided that it was the Brown Family's dead who were at fault saying "the dead should stay dead!" so the entire town went to go dig up Mary, Olive, and Mercy. They dig up Mary-bones and some clothing. Olive-the same. Mary looks just like she did the day she died, there was nothing different about her, except longer nails and hair (that's what happens to the freshly dead, the tissue contracts and they look longer). Everyone was all OMG! and the minister said that the only way to save their town and Edmond especially was to cut out Mercy's heart and burn it, mix in water and have Edmond drink it. the drink didn't work (In my defense, I didn't want the ENTIRE royal family dead) and Edmond died, but after Mercy had her heart cut out the epidemic stopped.

Boogie Boogie! You know, it's weird, there's a story from Spain about a girl who defied her fathers orders and had First Communion when he wanted her to do some other thing so he killed her, a hundred years later, she's in perfect condition and revered as a saint (it's true, I've seen her remains, only her hand looks vaguely corpse like). Different situations, completely different outcomes. Sorry, had to comment.

Well, hopefully we'll get back on more frequent updates, huh? I think I've been initated to the Update Whenever Club.

Bye!


	9. JackoLantern

**A/N: **Hello again my friends! Well, this is one of the theories of how the Jack-o-Lantern came to be.

Yes, this chapter is extremely short, but I couldn't expand this story much farther than it already is. I seem to be having this problem a lot. Oh well. Here's the story of Jack.

I don't own it.

* * *

Jester had taken to taking walks in the forest, it helped clear his mind and he could think of jokes or ballads when he did so. The woods were nice in the day, the sunlight dappled the ground, much like the fur of the few cats that escaped the wrath of the villagers, they weren't witch-cats, after all.

He walked and walked, and once, it grew dark before he was back at the castle. There, he met someone, leaning against the tree.

"Hark, wanderer!" the person said. Approaching, Jester found it to be a man a little older than Gunther. Jester returned the greeting.

"Who are you?" asked the Fool. "I have never seen you before."

"I am called Ambrose by some. And you?" Jester remained silent. "Ah, I see. Well. You wouldn't stop by the village for a drink would you?"

"No, I have to get back, I have work."

"Work. Yes, that is good, for idle hands are the devil's workshop. Go on, I shall tend to my own work, I have much I need to do."

"Thank you kindly, Ambrose. I hope to meet you again under better circumstances."

"I too, wanderer." With a polite nod, Jester moved on, heading to the castle.

Behind him, the patch of grass on which Ambrose was standing was slowly dying, yellow curling up the emerald blades, spreading blood-like across the grass. Ambrose smiled to himself. This would be fun.

* * *

And so, began a cycle. Jester would go for walks in the wood, and he would always meet Ambrose somewhere, sitting by a tree playing a flute, napping in the sunlight, and they would talk. Soon, the two were friends, and actually looked for each other in the woods.

One day though, Jester and Ambrose were sitting under a tree, talking and laughing, and Jester tricked Ambrose into climbing the tree.

Ambrose was stuck.

As he called for help, Jester laughed, bowed to his friend, and walked off, ignoring him until he heard the crackle of flames.

He spun and instead of his kind friend Ambrose, he saw the Devil encased in hellfire, stuck in the tree and snarling at him.

Jester crossed himself and fled, hearing the Devil curse him, yet screaming the Lord's Prayer.

Somehow, it was stuck deep into his psyche that when he died, he would go to neither Heaven nor Hell, but would wander the darkness forever, with only a turnip lantern for light.

* * *

Jester lived in fear for the rest of his life, every night he recited every prayer he knew in every language he knew, begging his Lord and Father to help him with this curse of the fallen Angel. When he was old, he still cowered in the night, and on his deathbed, he wept bitterly.

Blood splashed into his room, gold illuminated the edges of his bed as they sky turned a musky purple high above, orange petals drifting across the sky. God was giving him the most beautiful sunset He had for the last hour of his life, yet Jester, or Adeodatis, took no comfort in that as life flew from his body, taking to the sky, while his soul was bound tighter to Earth.

The mist was everlasting, and his light was so feeble! And there was Ambrose, laughing at him. Laughing, laughing, laughing.

* * *

**A/N: **So a short little story. Originally, it's Jack, and he just tricks the devil, and isn't friends with him. This story is the version created by the Irish, who changed the lantern from turnips to pumpkins when they came to America, because America had more pumpkins than turnips Oh, and I thought Adeodatis meaning God's Gift is sort of...ironic would it be? Oh well. God's gift, friend of the Devil's human form, you know.

So, there is another interesting theory behind the jack o lantern (still Irish, still turnips changed to pumpkins) so the Celts (I think it was) had one of their holiest holidays on what we know as Halloween. So, they wanted to scare off the spirits (they were still out and about even then) by having bonfires and stuff. While they're dancing around with a human skull, they have little turnip lanterns, the turnips having faces in them to terrify the evil spirits. and the human skull is another theory. They had the skull with empty eyes reminding them of their dead loved ones, and then when it became just socially unacceptable, they carved some sort of vegetable (probably turnips) to just substitute.

Well. I suppose I should finish this off in a witty manner. I can't think of one.

Review, please!


	10. John Hammond

**A/N:** Okay...don't kill me. I know I haven't updated in half a forever, but bear with me. I'm actually proud of this one.

Okay, so this one is shameless G/J, but I highly doubted anyone else could ever dream of having their own castle and still have money to travel. This all makes sense when I explain who John Hammond was. Yeah...you know, marriages in Jane's time are so easy to write? You don't have to do anything!

Anyway, I don't own it, never have, never will, and enjoy!

* * *

As the years marched on, regular and orderly, the two squires matured. And as the years tumbled by, contorting and flying, the two squires fell in love. And when one year, clad in shining glory entered the world, the two knights married.

The sun was high in the teal sky, gold sparkling on the floating diamonds of dust as the newlyweds entered the castle they had been given as a wedding present from the king. Not too unusual for knights to have their own castles after all. The castle was small, but it was still a castle, so the two knights were content there.

When not needed by the king, the couple would travel, bringing back many things that gave the castle an almost odd appearance. Chimera from France, armor and paintings from Italy, anything they liked.

"I do not think putting that Chimera there was so much of a good idea," said Sir Gunther one night over dinner, looking up at the leering monster glaring down at him as he ate.

"I think it is fine," laughed Lady Jane.

"Do you have it staring you down? I think not!"

"I do have the Virgin Mary staring at me whenever I play the organ," reminded Jane.

"The Virgin and a Chimera are entirely different, Jane." Here, Jane laughed, for that was the tone he had always used when they had been arguing children.

"I will have Simon move it then. Now back to our conversation."

The two often liked to discuss Theology and the Afterlife, if those odd people in the Orient were at all intelligent in the idea of reincarnation or if they were just damning themselves in the eyes of the Father. Neither were really very certain about their beliefs of the Afterlife. If all souls went to Heaven or Hell, then why were ghosts? Why were there witches and vampires and ghouls?

"Perhaps they were neither good nor bad," suggested Jane. "Ghosts at least."

"I do not know. That sounds just…it does not sound right."

"But when does the Lord make sense?"

"To the devout he does."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, and I do not really believe that even the most devout understand him exactly."

"Then why does the Bishop sound so all important about his knowledge?"

"Because the Bishop is a biscuit weevil," laughed Jane.

"That is blasphemy!" said Gunther, though he laughed as well.

"I will pray before the witching hour is at hand, not to fear."

When night did fall, the two knights prayed in their separate rooms, Jane spending more time on her knees than Gunther, praying for forgiveness, and saying a few Hail Mary's. It was better to be safe than sorry.

* * *

This was the pattern they fell into, they would wake, dress, greet each other for breakfast, go to chapel, and practice until lunch. Over lunch they discussed fighting and ways to improve, and when they were done, they would go attend to other duties or merely sit and read. Occasionally Jane would go into town to plan their excursion to the next country, or they would go for a ride. Around four, Gunther would disappear into his study, and Jane would go play the pipe organ. As far as anyone could tell, Gunther was just working on the specifics of running the castle and the lands around it, figuring taxes and the like.

This was what they did for two years.

After those two years, Jane started to feel ill. She insisted she would be fine but her husband called the healer and forced her to bed anyway, "You are coughing up your own lung, Jane," he said as she protested yet again. "I will just have the healer see if there is anything wrong with you than a case of the 'sniffles.'" Jane started to protest but broke into sneezing, unable to protest as her husband left.

When the elderly man arrived, and saw the knight lying in bed, glaring at the knight that fetched him, complaining of how her husband was babying her, he chuckled. He had heard of the famous Lady Jane, who often said she was Sir Jane, and her famous temper especially at her husband, Sir Gunther.

"Now, Lady Jane—" he said.

"Sir. Sir Jane," she snapped.

"Then _Sir_ Jane, I need you to sit up, please." As she complied, he listened to her heartbeat and breathing, Sir Gunther looking away. He felt her forehead for a temperature, all the normal procedures. "I believe it is only a mild cough and a bad reaction to the flowers outside. Perhaps you should have a different type planted outside."

And that was that. No one thought much of it, the doctor had given his deductions, and they accepted it. Different flowers were planted, and Jane was let out of bed.

Two weeks later, Jane fell more seriously ill. The healer came back, and prescribed chicken bone power in wine, and Jane drank the disgusting mixture faithfully, every day before lunch and before bed. It would cure her after all.

The weeks passed with little sign of improvement, but when she started to deteriorate, Gunther was rarely missing from her side. As she grew weaker and weaker, she drank the mixture more and more, until the day came when the Bishop said a prayer over her, her husband saddened by her side.

And for the first time in many years, Gunther shed a tear as Jane passed.

* * *

The castle was never the same. The knight in residence never travelled anymore, he remained there, occasionally harking to the King's call, but was locked inside his study more and more often.

Even those who knew him as sour and reclusive thought he was being introverted.

When another year had passed, Gunther fell ill. The healer prescribed bleeding and drinking a mixture of cow's urine and a crushed dog's tongue, and the castle staff hoped it would help Gunther heal. They had lost their mistress and didn't fancy losing their master as well.

Unfortunately, the cures of the best doctor of the area didn't seem to work, but Gunther slipped peacefully from the world with a smile on his face and the last words of, _"__Non est ad astra mollis e terris via."_ There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

It was this sort of philosophical thing that the knight would say, and it sent those who heard what his last words were into tears. They had loved their masters.

* * *

Simon and his brother Peter were cleaning the organ room, for the castle had to look its best, now that it was for the royal family whenever they wanted it.

"Lady Jane loved that organ, did she not?" said Simon as they left.

"Played it every day," agreed Peter. As the words left his mouth, organ music began to play. "Speak of the devil and he will come." they turned, and saw no one at the organ, and crossed themselves, running to tell the others of this incident.

* * *

Ruth heard footsteps in an empty stairwell, Sarah saw a woman with long red hair walk from one room to another, John stared as the organ keys moved, Matthew jumped when a door slammed in the middle of the night.

When the Royal Family first arrived, the Crown Prince heard pacing come from the study that previously belonged to Sir Gunther, and the princess smelled the perfume Lady Jane used to wear. The King and Queen had no encounters, but the Queen did feel odd staying in this castle, so recently vacated by the dead couple.

The royal children though, they believed wholeheartedly that the two knights were still living in their home, no matter that they were dead.

"I saw Sir Jane!" said Lavinia to her mother, trying to convince her of what she saw. "She was walking from the organ room, and she waved to me!"

"Lavinia, you were imagining it," said the queen gently. "Lady Jane died two years ago."

"But I saw her ghost! I did!"

* * *

It grew too much for the king, and so he ordered that Sir Gunther's private notes be brought to him, and the servants carried them to the king reluctantly. It was their master's private notes after all. They couldn't read, goodness no, but it was the principle of the thing.

But the king read through them, notes in code, and one phrase, one that King Caradoc II understood. Just one.

_I, while living, have conquered the universe._

And behind him, Caradoc could have sworn he heard two pairs of footsteps, coming nearer and nearer, and stopping behind him in the clipped professionalism that the two knights that used to live there possessed.

The faintest scent of lilac, and a brush of cold air, and Caradoc turned fearfully, to see nothing there.

It seemed the Breech family had unlocked the secrets of death itself.

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah.

So, John Hammond was an inventor, and was called a genius and also a mad scientist. But he did get married, to a woman named Irene. For their wedding, he had a castle made in Cape Anne, and the two loved to travel (everything I mentioned I am pretty sure are all there). So they've collected all sorts of stuff, and it's just more than a little wierd for Cape Anne. So Irene fell ill and died, and then he died, and they now haunt their home supposedly, because John was fascinated in death and the afterlife and the two always discussed it, and John tried to unlock the secrets of death. Lots of people believe they managed to.

There's a few things I need to explain, aren't there? When the doctor listened to heartbeat and breathing, that means he put his ear to her chest, so that's more than a little disturbing. And the cures I'm pretty sure were real cures for some illnesses. I know they sound disturbing, but whatever, you would have taken them too.

So...even though I constantly abandon you...review!


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